


show me

by halfwheeze



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Brief Mention of Blood, Comics Height Difference, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, First Kiss, M/M, Sleepy Clint Barton, Sleepy Cuddles, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 08:52:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18246512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfwheeze/pseuds/halfwheeze
Summary: prompt:  id love to read something where one of them is touch starved? or just really affectionate and wanting to hug the other the whole time?





	show me

**Author's Note:**

> back in the prompt game! this was written rather quickly, so if you find any mistakes, let me know! hope you guys like it!

Bucky cards his fingers through Clint’s hair slowly, careful not to catch in where Clint’s hair (which needs to be cut pretty badly) is tangled and matted with blood. His friend is completely passed out, not from the injury (it’s not even that bad), but from the thirty six hours that he’s been awake without rest. The injury is from a nick that Clint got shaving high on his jawline (because he’s an idiot) that he picked at in his sleep, and he somehow managed to sleep-wipe it into his hair before Bucky got the bleeding to stop. Really, Bucky should leave. It’s not normal to sit here while Clint is sleeping, even if the desire to sit and guard him (with the absolute benefit of watching him sleep) is strong. 

Bucky slides his leg out from beneath Clint’s head as carefully as he can, but still, the sleeping man grabs onto him. 

“No,” sleepy Clint whines, dragging Bucky closer until Clint’s head is no longer on his legs at all, but rather encroaching upon Bucky’s stomach and making him slouch. Bucky, unable to stop himself, smiles fondly. If he’s sweet on Clint, that’s his business. They should get a hotel in a couple of days; Clint has been having more problems with cold lately, if he’s snuggling up to Bucky like this. His left hand, the one that is hard, cold metal and not flesh and blood, is resting on top of Clint’s head now, but when he tries to move it, Clint is whining again. This time it’s wordless, though it doesn’t stay that way for long. 

“Pet me,” Clint whines some more, pushing himself further into Bucky’s lap. Clint is likely the best friend that Bucky has in the 21st century, but even he does not think that modern men are platonically like this with each other. He strokes his fingers through Clint’s hair anyway, careful in not hurting him with the metal plating, and Clint hums happily. This isn’t a fair thing to do when you have feelings for someone. Clint trusts him as a  _ friend,  _ not as anything that Bucky’s strangled heart would like for them to be. 

“Clint,” Bucky says, quiet, but loud enough to disturb Clint, who pokes him in the stomach. He pokes him again, even harder, as Bucky’s hand stills and takes up resting on the back of Clint’s neck. There’s more whining when Bucky tries to retract himself again, almost enough to make him stay, even if it’s not a good idea. Clint pushes him back against the couch cushions and doesn’t seem to want to let him leave. 

_ “Bucky,”  _ Clint whines, dragging out the second syllable of Bucky’s name for what seems like ten yards. He wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist, keeping him in place as he smushes his face back into Bucky’s abdomen. 

“Stay,” Clint requests, just barely a tiny, little whisper as if Bucky’s not supposed to hear it at all. All of the fight in Bucky flows out like it was never there at all, and he sinks down, little by little, until it’s less like Clint is laying on him and more like Bucky is holding him. Clint climbs further up him and settles with his face against Bucky’s neck, one of his hands just barely under the bottom hem of Bucky’s shirt, the other cradling the back of Bucky’s head. Bucky can only make himself hold tense for a moment before he finds himself relaxing, completely at ease with having Clint lay over him like a blanket. 

Bucky doesn’t have a lot of recent experience in the way of positive touches. He barely remembers a childhood in Brooklyn, sisters and parents laying all over him in the New York City winter cold, barely remembers having Steve Rogers attached at his hip and never hating it. Now, it’s sometimes okay to have Steve near him, but he’s never,  _ never  _ as close as Clint is right now, and Bucky feels  _ good.  _ He feels comfortable, comforted,  _ normal.  _ Clint makes him feel  _ normal  _ in all of the best ways, even if he’s attracted to and maybe falling in love with a man who just sees him as a friend. He squeezes Clint closer unabashedly and Clint just snuggles deeper into him, breathing him in. 

“Would it be the worst thing in the world if I kissed you right now? I wanna go back to sleep after, but I wanna kiss you before you get all angsty,” Clint asks directly into Bucky’s ear, already pressing a kiss under it. Bucky feels himself freeze and yet immediately unfreeze, because this is exactly like Clint. For as much as he pretends to be a socially inept circus clown    
(even so much as the last bit is true), Clint has sharper eyes than perhaps even Bucky himself, and of course he knows. 

“Please,” Bucky whispers. He can’t make himself kiss Clint first, no matter how badly he wants to, and Clint seems to realise that because he uses the hand behind Bucky’s head to tilt it, to bring him closer. Clint tilts his own head as well so their noses don’t collide and kissing Clint Barton is the warmest thing that has ever happened to the Winter Soldier. Clint Barton kisses like he’s never going to be able to do it again, like he has to get rid of all of his feelings now or they’ll be enough to stop his heart. Bucky tries to kiss back in just the same way, taking him in like breathing, and somehow he brings Clint even closer, until it’s hard to distinguish which one of them is which. 

Clint is a lot taller than Bucky (6’3 to his 5’9), and tucking him into all of the places where Bucky feels empty feels like coming home despite it. Because of working out and that sheer height (what Janet calls the Tall White Boy Strength Equation), Clint can carry him pretty easily, metal arm and all. Because of the serum, Bucky can carry just about anything pretty easily, even a man that’s muscular, toned and half a foot taller than him. Both of these facts are important because, despite the comfort of every couch purchased by Tony Stark, the idea of Clint sleeping in his bed is one that Bucky doesn’t want to get out of his head. 

“Clint,” he says when he breaks their third or fourth kiss, breathless, because Clint may have said one kiss but he did not mean it. Clint looks at him like he’s made of the most beautiful spun glass, like he’s something to be admired and cared for, and Bucky doesn’t know what to do with that. “Let’s go to bed,” he proposes, putting a kiss on Clint’s nose, which makes his archer smile beautifully. 

“I’ll carry you to bed, Bucks. I got you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Prompt me @halfwheeze on tumblr!


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